


Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move

by cormorans



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, spoilers for career of evil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 06:02:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12126099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cormorans/pseuds/cormorans
Summary: A very small one shot / drabble I initially wrote on my RP blog.





	Mamihlapinatapei - The look between two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make the first move

ROBIN’S BRIDAL dress looked nothing like the green one from Vashti; yet both suited her, enhanced her. And Strike didn’t think twice about gazing at her throughout the reception. She was the bride, wasn’t she? The center of attention. The convergence of stares and looks. Every now and then, their eyes would meet across the room, a fluctuating mass of bodies in between them, and they would smile. Not a word was exchanged, her duties preventing her from lingering too long with one person, from having too prolonged a conversation, and Strike busied himself with wine and food and the occasional and perfunctory small talks weddings were wont to require.

“Dance with me.” Behind him, Robin’s voice pulled him away from a rather bothersome discussion with an elderly man intent on telling him all about the war he’d been in after learning that Strike himself was a veteran.

He turned around and smiled again, his gaze falling on her. Denying her wouldn’t do. Not on that day. Should he tell her that ballroom dances weren’t something his body was made for? A push on his good leg, a hand grazing her waist to snake his arm around it, and they were both carving their way amidst the couples already moving on the floorboards. Don’t let me slip, he mentally prayed.His grip on her tightened, bringing her flush against his chest.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he whispered in her ear.  
Against the side of his face, he could feel her smile.  
“You’ll be fine.”  
Over the collar of his shirt, he could feel her hand, her fingers idly playing with the starched fabric. He smiled.

They moved, feet learning how to take steps, legs bending and stretching in clumsy unison until they reached a more harmonious motion. Strike didn’t need to look down at her, Robin’s height and heels bringing her face before his own. Neither of them spoke, content to listen to the music and attune the movements of their joined bodies to it, notes and melody the only words and conversation they needed. Robin was gazing about her, oblivious - either willingly or unwillingly - to Strike’s eyes caressing the slope of her shoulder snug in delicate lace, the outline of her face, the curve of her throat. The brush of his fingers wrapped about her own the only skin to skin contact they experienced.

At some point during the song, she looked upwards and found his eyes. The ghost of a smile on his lips barely faltered then, his palm pressing her closer yet - and Strike wondered if she could feel the buttons of his shirt through her dress. The grey-blue of her eyes rendered their surroundings nonexistent, drowned the sounds of music and laughters and voices, annihilated the world in which she was now a wife. They watched each other, attuned to the other’s body and, he could have sworn it then, attuned to the other’s thoughts. Still, they remained silent. Strike realised that he’d never held her this close - or for this long. It felt familiar, it felt right. A breath, hers, was quietly sucked when his lips parted. He missed a step, his mind reeling at it teetered. When they resumed dancing, both mouths were sealed.What transpired in their locked gazes, what suffused their eyes, was never shaped into syllables, never given a life through the spoken word. Would regrets be born in that very moment? Or would they find themselves grateful for preserving what had been shared?


End file.
